


Saving John Watson

by fortunatelykeendetective



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, But he doesn't act on them, M/M, PTSD John, See Trigger Warnings, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 06:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5238311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunatelykeendetective/pseuds/fortunatelykeendetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A ficlet about what John Watson was up to at the beginning of A Study in Pink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saving John Watson

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: Suicidal Ideation, Depression, PTSD. You know your triggers better than I do, so please don't read if these things upset you too much (and you know what 'too much' is for you). The last thing I want is to trigger anyone, so PLEASE read with caution. 
> 
> Not beta'ed or Brit-picked. All errors mine, please feel free to point things out so I can fix them.

John isn’t really sure what the purpose would be of waking up tomorrow. It’s been twelve weeks since he got off the bird that brought him home from Kandahar, though while he was gone home changed and so did he.

The tricyclics worked _sort of_ , but the Army doesn’t do a lot for a bloke once he’s outlived his usefulness to them. _Here’s your meds and off you go. Good luck, mate_ , they’d said.

He isn’t sure what’s left here for him, to be honest. The nightmares, they’re with him awake and asleep. The bleeding, the brains of teenagers splattered on the ground, Britain’s future lying dead in the Afghan desert. The ones he couldn’t save. Blasts that killed not only his mates, but innocent children. Four-year-olds blown to bits while playing outside with a pile of rags they called a football. _Tell me why the fuck we’re here again,_ he'd thought at the time.

Back to the present and he continues to ask himself the question. _Let goddamn David Cameron spend his precious blood and future if it’s so noble a cause._

At his next appointment Ella gets on his case about blogging, but what is he going to write?

_Grocery shopping was hell today because someone dropped several jars of spaghetti sauce on the floor. It sounded like windows shattering after an IED. I managed to get out of there before breaking down._

_Dreamt about Williamson’s leg hanging on by a thread again. I couldn’t get to him in time to save him._

_Still can’t handle when the cabs stop at stoplights. Stationary vehicles make easy targets._

Instead, he responds so softly it’s almost inaudible, “Nothing happens to me.”

Over and over in his mind he has replayed the scene. Who would miss him if he’s gone? Mum and Dad? Hardly. Harry? Fat chance. No one else really close enough to him to care. He’s tried to keep in touch with James, but the emails go unanswered. He’d thought they were going to grow old together or at least stay good friends, but now James probably doesn’t want much to do with a paranoid cripple like himself.

He’s managed to save up enough of his meds to use if needed, but he’d prefer to do it quickly. The handgun in his drawer ought to do the trick. Messier, yes. But quick. John Watson is nothing if not efficient.

Just a quick trip down to the bank to settle some affairs and after that, he can do what he’s been planning. Hobbling across the pavement, cane in one hand, dressed sharply to keep up appearances. Doesn't want to give anyone cause for concern, not that anyone has given him a second glance in the last few weeks anyway. Invalids don’t get much notice in a world made for well people.

_“John! John Watson! Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart’s together.”_

**Author's Note:**

> This was a hard one to write, but I had to get it out of my system. John's PTSD haunts me. Several people I know and love struggle with combat PTSD so it is personal as much as anything.


End file.
